And Make Sure You're Alright
by Hannahpotter112
Summary: this continues with the idea that Jemma was the one who didn't wear the breathing mask in the season one finale. Simmons has brain injuries due to the incident and starts therapy for them. Fitz is by her side the whole time.


And Make Sure You're Alright

A/N: I wanted to make a follow up story to the one I had already made called Can I Lay By Your Side, so you might want to read that one first but you could just read this one. Beta'd by GUITARCHIQ, you're awesomeXD! Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of this fanfiction, and this is a spin on the original plot. I also don't own the title, the lyrics belong to Sam Smith from "Lay Me Down"

Today was especially difficult for Jemma. Today was the start of her speech therapy. Coulson had scheduled it for her once she had opened her eyes and had shown some recognition of human presence. She had not said a word since the incident, not to Skye, not to Phil, not even to Leo. She had meant to say things to them, she really did. She wanted to tell her partner that she was fine—even though she really wasn't—and to get some sleep. She wanted to tell Skye the answers to the random questions that she asked her even though she couldn't respond, and she wanted to tell Phil that he was doing a great job keeping the team together in a time when their world had fallen apart.

Jemma knew she needed it, but she couldn't help but dread the moment when the doctor walked in, and she wouldn't be able to do anything else but look at him, possibly open her mouth in strange disfigured ways. She passed the time until three o'clock by alternating from staring at a worried Fitz, and watching her favorite episode of Dr. Who on repeat. _Maybe I will be okay, this will help, I_ will _be fine,_ Jemma thought to herself multiple times, but that was always countered with: _even_ if _I do fix this, there is always the issue of my hands…I can't do biochemistry without my cognitive abilities, that would be laboratory havoc wherever I worked. And what if I will never be able to use the loo alone?_ These thoughts went on, alternating between pros and cons, good and bad until—SLAM!

Her door opened with a bang, sending a vibration though the floor, and to her bed, causing her to jump. Jemma recognized the man that came in, but couldn't quite think of his name; all she knew is that he was married to agent May. _How could_ you _possibly be a speech therapist? Are you even entitled to deal with this type of anomia?_ was all the biochemist wanted to ask as the tall man looked at her quite thoroughly, and then took a seat where Fitz—who was now sleeping on the futon directly next to her—would sit.

"So, you can't speak, huh?" he asked, knowing the young woman would have a hard time adjusting. Simmons stared at him blankly. The man's face fell as he looked at Simmons again. Fitz, who was now up, was watching the man as if he was on display at a museum.

"Do you want this boy out of here?" he said, looking at Fitz with a slightly questionable look on his face.

"Umm... If you could excuse me sir," said Fitz, sanding up from his original position on his futon, "I'm quite capable of speaking for her," he said proudly, "so, no, she does not want me to leave." The older man raised his eyebrows, and turned his head to look at Simmons, figuring that it was better to leave the issue.

"I guess you don't really need speech therapy then?" he asked, and then smiled a little at the thought that the biochemist had support in a very caring friend. The man rummaged around in his leather briefcase, and pulled out a light.

"Is that a really bright light? Jemma hates when I accidentally shine my goggle lights in her eyes when we are working," said the overly concerned engineer with a worried facial expression. The doctor looked at him, raising one eyebrow and then continued examining Jemma.

Afterwards, Fitz lay on his bed, hands running through his curly, unkempt hair. He stared at the bright yellow light above him, imagining Jemma with him, talking to him. _Fitz, you know you are being irrational right now_ , she would say with a soft sympathetic smile, _I'm almost to the point of speaking, and I'm getting better, so please go back to the lab to work. Our team needs you, Fitz._ He could almost feel her hand lightly touching his shoulder, once; he almost reached out to hold it.

Fitz woke up from his dream drenched in sweat, and breathing hard. His blankets were on the ground in a messy heap, and his academy sleeping shirt had come off. It took him some time to regain normalcy, but he found himself hugging a pillow tightly for comfort. He couldn't remember his dream, but he knew it had something to do with Jemma. He breathed deeply, and realized that he was not going to fall back asleep. He got out of his bed with a creek, and bashed into the dresser beside his. He winced and doubled over, saying 'damn it' over again under his breath. Once he made it out of the room, he looked back at the biochemist, who was still sleeping, and sighed in relief. That girl almost got less sleep then he did.

He walked into the main living area, and sat down without realizing a sleeping Skye was on the couch.

"Shit! Fitz! You scared me half to death!" said a now fully awake Skye, who was sitting up rubbing her legs.

"I am so sorry, is there anything I can do? Were you sleeping?" sputtered Fitz, who seemed to be more startled by the incident than Skye was.

"No, I was swimming with sharks," the hacker said with a totally blank expression.

"Your sarcasm is much appreciated," said Fitz, who was now sitting in the chair opposite Skye.

"So, how's Simmons? Is that why you're out of the room? Or is this just a midnight-snack run?" said Skye, holding back the ' _are you too in love with her to be in there for too long?'_ because she already knew the answer was yes.

"I can't sleep, with all the hospital noises and things. I keep thinking that there is a problem with her," he said, looking at his long wool socks. Skye sighed, and nodded a little.

"I'm sorry I woke you," said the engineer, looking concerned.

"It's okay," said Skye, giving him a smile. "I was practically up anyway," she said, even though she wasn't. Fitz nodded, and felt his shoulder, rubbing it unconsciously.

"So…," said the hacker after a slightly awkward silence, "Are you hungry or something? You can make something, or we can have leftovers."

Fitz nodded, and silently walked over to the kitchen. He opened up the fridge, letting the cold air surround his body, sending goosebumps up his arm. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of single scotch malt, and two shot glasses from the cupboard. Fitz walked back, set the glasses down on the large table in the middle of the room, and poured an oversize amount into each of their glasses. Skye took hers, and finished it in one large gulp, wincing afterwards. Skye nodded in thanks and laid back down, propping her head up with her hand. Fitz, who had already finished his shot too, poured himself another large helping. He held up the bottle to Skye, who waved her hand, showing that she had enough of the strong drink.

Fitz began to felt more relaxed, giving into the warmth of the whiskey.

"Do you think our team will continue? Like, will Coulson send us on more missions and stuff?" asked Skye as he finished his second shot.

"Well, I believe so. After Simmons gets better, things will go back to normal with me and her in the lab. He will give missions, and we will create the gadgets as usual, together," Fitz smiled at his unrealistic fantasy.

"What do you think?" He asked Skye, who was staring at the wall behind him.

"Oh, um...what you said," she said, face broadening into a fake smile. She didn't want to ruin the small bit of sanity Fitz had left. She knew that her friend Jemma would never be the same. She knew that something had changed and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she was scared—scared for Fitzsimmons and the team. She knew that if Jemma changed, even a little, if they lost their uncanny psychic attachment, their whole team would never be the same, and neither would Fitz and Simmons. She felt a small twinge of panic in the thought. _What if I lose my friend? Well. I know I will always be friends with her, despite her awkwardness in flirting…_ Skye was quite surprised that this had not crossed her mind earlier. She had spent her time helping the rest of the team, and worrying about the loss of Fitzsimmons that she didn't think about what would happen with her and Simmons. She felt more panicked by the thought and wanted to get rid of the feeling.

"Hey, still have more of that whiskey?" Skye asked, holding out her empty shot glass to Fitz. Knowing that Skye wouldn't want another after that, he poured her another glass and finished off the rest of the bottle.

They sat up for the rest of the night, each of them drinking, and ignoring the silence around the room. Suddenly, at around three, a bloodcurdling scream rang through the Bus. Fitz immediately recognized it as Jemma.

A/N: I hope you like it! Was it good? bad? I won't know unless you review

Fitz was running; sprinting. His best friend's—well, more than that—scream was ringing through the walls. Fitz got to the door first, then Skye, then May, then Coulson. Simmons was lying in her hospital bed, the scratchy sheets were flung onto the ground, and her eyes were closed tight.

"Is she asleep?" Skye asked, as Fitz ran to her side, and rubbed her arm, up and down and up and down, until she opened her eyes. Her fearful expression vanished to replace a confused one.

"L-l-ll-l," she stuttered, staring at Fitz. He gripped her hand tight, and put a hand gently on her forehead.

"Leo," she said.


End file.
